


Rescue Me

by jenajasper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Always Keep Fighting, Angst, Brotherly Love, First Kiss, M/M, Protective Dean, Self-Harm, You are not alone, dean feels helpless, sam feels worthless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:01:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5027662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenajasper/pseuds/jenajasper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean suspects that Sam is hurting himself. He doesn't know why; he just wants to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rescue Me

Sam was so angry. It would have been over. No more guilt from Dean saving him, again. Especially, since he could never save Dean. And what does his brother do with that? He loves him. He takes care of him.

Sam looked at the blade in his hand. It was getting more difficult to hide the cuts. The bruises, however, he could always blame on the job.

Dean sat, with his drink, worrying about his little brother. There was nothing unusual about that, except for Sam’s recent behavior. His brother had never been so reckless and careless. Dean remembered their last job, if he hadn’t walked in when he did. And why didn’t Sam call for help? Dean had one of his drunk thoughts; was he trying to get hurt? He poured himself another drink and decided to go to bed. 

 

Sam chose not to use the knife, yet. He was already pretty beat up; Dean wouldn’t notice a few more bruises.  
He stood up and wrapped his belt around his hand, letting the buckle swing. After a couple of deep breaths, he whipped the belt until the buckle smacked into his ribs.

As he passed his brother’s door, Dean heard something. Sam couldn’t make a sound that he didn’t recognize. His brother must be hurt worse than he thought. Dean knocked as he turned the doorknob. But the door was locked. He called Sam’s name and knocked harder. After a few seconds, Sam opened the door. He said he was okay; he just got up too fast. Dean wanted to believe him but he was sure he saw fresh blood on Sam’s t-shirt. Sam closed the door and, reluctantly, Dean went to his own room. 

The next morning, Dean checked on his brother. The door was unlocked and he walked in. Sam was still asleep. As Dean turned to leave, a glint of metal caught his eye. Sam had left a knife, on his nightstand, unsheathed and dirty. Dean took it with him.

While the coffee brewed, Dean wiped the blade. He saw that the substance was blood. They didn’t work yesterday and this blood was fresh. He cleaned the knife while terrible thoughts ran through his head. 

When Sam sat down for breakfast, Dean sat across from him. Placing the knife on the table, he said nothing. Sam asked, “How did you get my knife?”  
Dean replied, “You should thank me for cleaning it. Whose blood was that, Sam?”  
When his brother didn’t answer, Dean knew his terrible thoughts were true.

Sam held his head in his hands but didn’t speak. Dean got up and stood behind him. He wrapped his arms around him and, resting his cheek on Sam’s head, Dean whispered, “Please, talk to me.”

Sam exploded. He broke the hold. Pushing Dean away as he stood up, he yelled, “Stop!”  
Dean was speechless.

Sam continued. “Dean, you’re always helping me, saving me. Just stop, please.” What was Sam talking about? He couldn’t do that. Dean took a step towards his brother but Sam backed away. Dean kept silent; he would let Sam talk.

Sad enough to break his brother’s heart, Sam said, “You always find a way. But, when you needed me, I couldn’t save you.”

Dean smiled. “Sammy, you save me every day.” 

Sam thought his brother sounded sincere but Dean could talk his way out of almost anything. What was that saying, ‘selling ice to Eskimos’? Dean was good, but Sam felt, he has smarter. He glared at his brother. As he walked out, he said, “Damn you! Don’t patronize me!” 

Dean opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He had spoken his true feelings, his real emotions, and Sam spit them back in his face. He heard a door slam and it was physically painful. Sam needed help and Dean felt helpless.

Sam looked around his room then remembered that his knife was still in the kitchen. He rifled through a trunk, at the foot of the bed, until he found an old Swiss Army knife that he carried when he was in school. It was the one with the fish scaler; Sam liked the idea of that. Sam closed the trunk, removed his jeans and sat down. He flipped open the serrated blade and pressed down hard, scraping the skin on his thigh. The blood appeared, sprinkled throughout his torn, raw, flesh like so many bubbles. He slid the blade, a second time, creating new bubbles and smearing the first. 

Dean couldn’t let this go on. He walked to Sam’s room and entered without knocking. He had never felt so sick. He watched Sam, scrape the serrated blade, as blood smeared on his skin. Whatever was the sound that came from Dean, it caused Sam to stop.

Before either of them could speak , Dean gripped the wrist of his brother’s knife wielding hand. He got on his knees and wiped Sam’s bloodied leg with his t-shirt. Sam tried to release himself from Dean’s grip but Dean was extremely strong, especially when motivated. Sam hung his head and wiped his eyes with his free hand. 

Within a few minutes, Dean saw that the bleeding had subsided. Still holding his brother’s wrist, Dean gently took hold of Sam’s face, with his other hand, and forced their eyes to meet. Without speaking, Dean leaned in and bringing their lips together, did the one thing, he knew, would show Sam how much he meant to him.  


**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this some time ago and it didn't mean as much to me as it does now. I learned that there's always someone who cares and is willing to help and sometimes you're the one. Never give up and always keep fighting.


End file.
